


Trigger

by Kyia



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, No Mercy Percy, Other, Revenge, spoilers for the Briarwood Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 22:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10397421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyia/pseuds/Kyia
Summary: The leadup to the Feast (ep 24) and Crimson Diplomacy(ep 26) from Percy's point of view.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this will be a oneshot, or be added too. Thoughts?  
> Opinions and comments appreciated. Its my first time writing anything in a while, fanfiction or otherwise, and my first time writing Crit Role fanfiction.

  It had been a long evening, a very long evening. Percy had been at the end of his rope days ago, when the first news that the Briarwoods were even going to be on his side of the continent was brought to his attention.

He didn’t want to think that he’d run from the confrontation that was to happen as he found his way down to the workshop before Seeker Asum had even finished disclosing it. He didn’t want to think that it could be considered cowardice as he left his friends to gather relevant details. But something whispered in the back of his head as he found the cool familiarity of his workshop, that this was another form of running, a different form of cowardice.

To silence that voice, he didn’t think, he just worked. It worked for a while, but not for long. His fingers grew restless, his palms itched as his tinkering fell to the side and he took to pacing instead. Vex had snidely mentioned that she was surprised he hadn’t worn a hole in the floor when She’d managed to stealth into the room. He’d managed to not verbally bite her head off at the interruption he hadn’t expected.

He’d dreaded telling his friends, the motley band that called themselves Vox Machina, of what the monsters of his past had done to him and his family, of what he had fled from, but he did. They managed to coax it out of him, listening to him disclose a few significant details in an uncharacteristically ineloquent way, fearful that his makeshift family would leave his dark secret behind in a cloud of the same contempt he’d held for himself since the incident.

He needn’t have worried.

To his surprise, they decided they were going to take on this threat with him, and if they noticed that his normally stoic exterior cracked spectacularly, none of them mentioned it.

The night of the banquet came far too quickly and not soon enough.

He’d spent the majority of his time in the workshop, using the time to work. This time wasn’t spent tinkering; this was spent creating weapons he could use to aid his vengeance. He enlisted Keyleth’s command of nature to help him, and between the two of them, he created something that even the Briarwoods would be incapable of shrugging off.

_Diplomacy_ was an apt name for something he had no intent on using with the Briarwoods.

They arrived at the supper, their own little motley crew; he wore the face of Vax’ildan instead of his own. Vax himself was made invisible by Scanlan’s magic. 

He listened to the plan with the same intensity he gave to his projects, but he was nervous, despite hiding it well. He thought of the etiquette and training that he’d endured as a member of the De Rolo’s, and used that to hide the shaking he felt under his ribs. He was far more grateful for the warmth and grounding presence of Vex’halia on his arm as they entered then he felt he had any right to be, but as they sat at the table to dine with snakes in disguise, his intense focus turned on the monsters at the end of the table instead. 

He’d held himself well during the supper, or so he thought. He had asked pointed questions, but not anything that could be considered _too_ obvious for someone who honestly had no knowledge of the situation, or more accurately, of the bullshit they spun and expected people to believe. More importantly, he’d managed to stare the murderers in the eyes without losing his cool. He had managed to keep calm despite the fact that the people who’d ruined his life were at the same table as he, even as his heartbeat wildly beneath his ribs. He could swear that they could hear it, that everyone at the table could.

The monarch’s departed, and Percy cursed his lack of earring. He had no idea if Vax had indeed gone off with Seeker Asum or not, and as the Briarwood’s disappeared out of sight to their rooms in the palace, he felt like his chance for vengeance was slipping away like smoke.

He stood stock still as they waited. A wall was perfectly comfortable at his back as they waited for some information or clue as to what was happening. His fingers itched for the pepperbox in his hand and his shoulders felt far too light without Bad News slung across his back.

  
The whispers in his ear were getting steadily more difficult to ignore as he stood there with Vox Machina, waiting. 

 

Scanlan’s call sprung the coiled spring that was his body, held too long in place by fear and absolute determination to not act before the right moment. He was moving towards the weapon check where his guns were kept, even as Grog yelled out “PLAYTIME” the loud goliath baritone that precluded the barbarian’s rage echoing around the foyer.

He’d rounded the corner of the palace where Vex had (somehow) managed to convey that the Briarwoods and Vax were, pulling Bad News from his shoulder as he ran. It was amazing she was able to convey anything as she appeared to be frantic not long after they’d gathered their weapons. It was obvious that her twin was in peril. His stomach twisted in a tighter knot at the knowledge that Vax was in danger from a foe he’d brought to this team, but he put the energy into speed instead.

The moonlight displayed their enemy under a broken window; standing over a crumpled pile of black robes that he knew in an instant was Vax. Percy aimed down the barrel of Bad News at the figure that had haunted his nightmares for 5 years.

His voice was unrecognizable to himself as he roared out Silas’s name, getting the attention of the finely dressed figure in the distance before squeezing the trigger of the long gun and feeling it slam into the meat of his chest. He was pleased to see Silas stagger as the shot hit his shoulder, and reloaded as the vampire turned to seek out his assailant in the moonlight. Dexterous fingers moved over the weapon as he heard his quarry speak.

“Would you look at that dear, the pup yet lives.” Silas’s chuckle was interrupted by his wrist feeling the thunder of Bad News again, while Percy stared coldly down the barrel, already beginning to reload.

His fighting was mechanical, tinged with fire and fury as he reloaded and shot from Bad News and the pepperbox. Steely eyed, he barely paid any attention to anything beyond the roar in his hands, the mechanical reloading of the weapons, and the feeling of fury in his chest. He’d waited too long for this. Bad News roared his fierce necessity for revenge to the heavens.

As the monsters attempted to flee, their escape was halted suddenly by another well placed shot.

“That was awesome Percy!” yelled Keyleth. But his eyes were focused unblinkingly on the carriage he’d shot the wheel from. The druid’s ice storm had allowed the carriage to teeter dangerously on its 3 wheels, before it careened over to hit the ground.

The last words uttered by the vampires within made his heart stop before anger made his pulse loud in his ears, and with his prey gone into the night, he had turned his anger on the only soul left that could be made to talk. His voice was quiet, even, despite the black storm that thundered inside him.

“What do you know?”

“About what?” the stuttered answer did nothing to calm his fury, and the pepperbox gleamed in the moonlight as he fired it into the hand of the carriage driver. The retort of The List was followed by the scream of pain from the youth as he assessed his mutilated hand, and underlying that was the gasp behind him from Vex. He was usually kind, compassionate, _reasonable_ if nothing else. His friends shared glances behind his back as they watched him mercilessly damage the youngster that remained, all the while wondering what had taken over their friend. 

“You’re from Whitestone yes?” he asked, his voice cold, but still even.

“You don’t know what it’s like! I had no choice!”

“Well, you do now.” He reloaded the pepperbox before resting it over the left hand of his terrified captive. His questions began strong as he questioned his captive with the names of his family, listening to the answers that he had known for 5 years, but had never really had confirmed. The youth before him blubbered apologies and the same answer again and again. Percy’s voice cracked as he listed the names of his family. The words of the Briarwoods had given him hope, for an instant he had given in to another of their games, and his anger intensified as he realized that even as he’d struck a blow against them, they’d managed to strike another against him.

_Fuck it._

†

Guilt began eating him as they escorted Vax to the temple of Seranrae. _He’d_ brought this too them, his small odd little troupe of friends. It was because of him and his past that Vax was so wounded, that he had almost died that evening. Because of him Vox Machina might be in significant trouble with the monarch, with currently unknown consequences.

Guilt went well with the churning anger inside his chest.

He was _so_ done with the evening.

 

 

His companions healed, and their new friend on edge, they found their way out of the temple, running right into the source of their tiefling friend’s woe.

The powder keg exploded.

“What is wrong with you? Don’t you see there’s nothing here for you? Run away before you die! There is no option!” His voice grew in volume as he unholstered the pepperbox, firing all of his shots into the chest of the Broker. He watched the shots hit, felt the recoil of his gun against the heel of his hand as he watched the bullets carve a hole in the tiefling’s solar plexus.

“You fool, your soul is forfeit! Die! Die!” he screamed, feeling the gun jam against his hand and still pulling at the trigger anyway. His eyes were cold as he pulled the mask from his pouch and pulled it over his face wondering if that might better hide the fear of what he’d unleashed this evening from his friends. He reached back for Bad News as he watched the body of the Broker fall. The body contained a smoking hole he could see threw in it’s chest, but he felt nothing but what he knew to be a sick sense of pride over that. He watched the old woman that was the spellcaster for the Broker shimmy backwards and get up as he looked around, fear evident on her face. She disappeared and reappeared some distance away, as Percy turned to eye the other assailant.

He felt the spell that Keyleth had casted and been holding, disappear into the void. He caught a glimpse of her as he looked for the last of the trio that had attacked them. Her face was a mask of horror as stared slackjaw at him. Threw the shroud of incredible fury he felt under his skin, he felt the need to wince. Never before had any one of his friends looked at him that way, and it hurt. Something about the horror in her eyes prickled uncomfortably across his skin as an unwelcome voice in his head began to speak.

_Monster… Monster… Now they can see it too._

As they dealt with their remaining captive, gathered in a semi circle around the masked man, Percy could still feel the prickling of Keyleth’s eyes on his back. His mask on his head, he ignored his friends, ignored the eyes he could feel on the back of his neck. He had lost his temper, more than he usually did, and it showed. But then again, Tiberius had killed an old woman in her sleep, with a spinning blade. He figured that out of their transgressions, his might be forgotten at the moment.

Something told him that there was only so much longer that the charade made of smoke would hold out for. With Whitestone in their future, sooner or later he would have to face it all.


End file.
